


Training With the Fett Clones

by Shane_for_Wax



Category: Star Wars Legends: Republic Commando Series - Karen Traviss, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-30
Updated: 2017-11-30
Packaged: 2019-02-08 13:20:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12865338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shane_for_Wax/pseuds/Shane_for_Wax
Summary: Mostly musings on training for the Alphas.





	Training With the Fett Clones

The trees had to be at least twenty times taller than he was, who was about 1.83 meters. He fought to ignore how closed in he felt. Instead, he made his way to the sniper nest that was on the ground rather than up on one of the trees. It would have been too common to expect a sniper to grab the high ground. He did not like being predictable. 

He pulled open the ‘roof’ of the nest then dropped down inside. It was little more than a nicely dug hole, with a firing slot in the side of it and cut into the ‘roof’. Once the ‘roof’ settled back down into place, the top of his hair almost brushed against it. He could not go prone in it, but he didn’t want to be either. Instead he sat, waiting with his cheek resting against the butt stock of his rifle almost like using it as a pillow. He made a few corrections, did a few tests on easy to pick out targets to be sure everything was up to snuff scope wise. Once down, he put his helmet on and the suit’s system sprang to life the second it was secured.

He had of course known the common joke about how he had inherited all the patience and left none for the other Alphas. He liked to think of it as the Alphas were simply more hotheaded than he was, rather than he was more patient. But that did not mean he did not get annoyed, or bored. Normally he would have had Hyran as his spotter, to take over watching and waiting while Sheres rested his eyes and mind. But he had to do this himself. Alone. Solo. A singular Alpha, without the support of brothers. A situation he hoped never to come across again. It was easy for his mind to drift. There were tricks he had come across, and some that Jango had taught him, that kept a sniper fresh throughout the hunt. It generally meant they played little imagination games, something that other Alphas like 17 had scoffed at and thus revealed they were not suited to be snipers like Sheres.

Even Jango only had so much to teach him, though. Mainly because Sheres had rocketed past all expectations, had overtaken his progenitor in skill with a rifle for the longshots. 

He was the best at reaching out and touching someone, the ultimate irony for someone so touch-starved of the regular variety. 

Though, Sheres wouldn’t exactly say he was the absolute _best_  sniper in the whole army. But he didn’t need to when it was one of the big things that Cyclo liked to brag about. About how his little brother was the _best_  out of the 100 Alphas which meant he had to be the _best_  of the whole Grand Army. Sheres had long since given up thinking about where the Nulls would place in a sharpshooting contest. And given up even longer trying to point out there had never been any actual test of skill between the two groups much less between the Alphas and the rank and file. Just because they were Alphas didn’t mean there couldn’t be a rank and file trooper that was better at the sniper hunt than he was. But then, Sheres did have _some_  Alpha-pride that absolutely refused to believe _that_. Saying as such was another matter, though.

It was only when a tiny flickering screen in the corner of his helmet’s HUD sprang to life that his mind returned to the present, to the here and the now. He imagined if he didn’t scrub out the scents he would be able to smell the dirt around him, the foliage that covered his scent from any would-be attack akk dogs or similar. As it was, all he smelled was his own sweat and plasteel of his armor. It took a split second to adjust his attention to the small camera broadcasting in real time to him. But it was almost too slow to catch the sight of a boot that blended rather well in the foliage, same as the sniper hide he was in. Almost, not quite. 

He cycled to another camera in time for that same boot to come into view, and then its twin. A third camera gave him a shot from the waist up as one lone trooper crept along. But Sheres knew he should never assume there was just one. He had always gone by the idea of one visible, but three more invisible. 

His fourth and final camera soon had the full profile of the intruder. That was when he toggled away from the feeds then stripped off his helmet. He knew he had just committed an act that would have been highly frowned upon, something to be disciplined for. If he had been a normal Infantryman anyways. But he was an Alpha, he had leeway on how he did things including wearing his bucket or not. 

A couple of adjustments and his prey entered the killzone crystal clear through the scope. His brows furrowed when the other trooper paused then looked around, like a skittish ewok. But he couldn’t dally, he had to call it in.

“Target acquired. Permission to engage?” His voice sounded rough in his helmet, his throat a little dry. He’d forgotten to stay hydrated for the past few hours. Ah well. Something to remember not to repeat later.  


“Close the deal, Alpha-8.”  


“Weapons hot. Repeat: weapons hot.”  


The last word had barely finished leaving his mouth before there was a sharp FFFT sound as he took the shot. His opponent took it right in the brain stem and dropped like a sack of meilooruns. Or at least, would have had a severed brain stem if it had not been simmunition. Rather, the shot had given a jolt which had caused the other trooper to collapse.

“One down, Overlook.”  


“Good work, Alpha-8.”   


It was a voice that was similar to his but not quite. And older, with something of a rusty rumble that his did not quite manage. And, maybe, if he wasn’t simply _hoping,_  there was something close to paternal pride in there. 

He was just about to give a quick thanks before a green and olive drab splashed trooper suddenly stepped into his field of view, nearly stepping on his downed squadmate. Sheres did not allow himself to wonder why that trooper had made such a dumb mistake, instead he went for the kidney tap that then gave him better sight on the killshot to the heart from behind, a shot that would have needed to slide between the very small space afforded between the scapula and the ribs if it had been real. It didn’t matter either way, as the trooper dropped. 

“Two down,” the count was automatic. If he’d had an actual spotter, it would’ve been tallied by them then sent ahead. Instead, it was a direct link to his training sergeant.   


And that was when suddenly his entire field of vision was obscured by smoke. He swore internally before pushing back from the firing slot but keeping the gun in place to prevent another detonator from entering his hide through it, just in case the remaining troopers had zeroed in on his location. 

It was also when he realized perhaps next time he should build a blind that was on the ground not below it. The only way he could leave at that moment was to pop the roof off. Something to also remember for next time. 

He felt more than heard the footsteps on top of his sniper nest. He waited until the sounds were no longer on the false roof/floor of the forest before shoving it open. He was faced with what he hoped was his final opponent. The clunk-thud of the roof caused his opposite number to spin around, gun drawn and at the ready but yet still too slow to stop the sniper from using his backup blaster pistol to score another kill, this time between the eyes. 

Once that hit registered and he had given the heads-up to his progenitor, everything sort of… stopped. The trees disappeared, most of the ground around him disappeared. It was all a simulation of course, but the best simulation of a forest similar to Endor or Kashyyyk one could get on a water planet.

The brothers he had ‘killed’ slowly clambered to their feet as Jango entered from a side door. 

“Well, _ner vod_ , congratulations on earning the top place in sniping evals. I never would’ve thought to look under my feet, but now that you have it’s just one more strategy we can prevent the enemy from employing.”  


“Predictability gets you killed,” Sheres mentioned by rote. It earned a slight chuckle.  


Jango’s hand clapped down on Sheres’s shoulder that was still covered in the training plasteel and the pauldron that told all of his position as an ARC.

“Though I really should deduct points for the missing _kama_  and bucket removal, I’ll let it slide.”  


Sheres knew by then that Jango _had_  to say that, it was in the regs. But it was also not the first time his lack of _kama_  had been brought up. It made him smile slightly. 

“Anything that gets the job done, right?”  


Jango laughed at that, his own code turned against him. 

“C’mon, time to get something to eat. _Orar_ squad, great job. Don’t feel too bad about losing everyone in this sim, you _were_  going after an expert marksman after all,” as he spoke, Jango led the way out of the simulation room and down to the mess in ARC country. Sheres removed his helmet then clipped it to his belt as he walked, leaving him as barefaced as his fellow ARCs. Though the base mold was Jango, nothing in the universe could have stopped them from slowly branching out to have their own faces on top of it. Each one could be pegged as related, but the differences kept them from uncanny valley ultra-identical territory.   


It was the unpredictability of those changes in life, even for cloners who had conquered the art of it, that made them so wonderfully human and diverse. Cloning a genetic template was nowhere close to copying a piece of flimsi and pasting it elsewhere.

One thing was predictable about them: they were always hungry after a good training simulation. 

And so they ate their fill and no one thought of the future because they were far too focused on the idea behind Shereshoy’s namesake: don’t put off to tomorrow what you can do today. Seize the day, for you may not be here tomorrow. Thinking about the future wasn’t going to do a _shab’la_ thing. Only your actions, now, did.

**Author's Note:**

> This is an experiment and I figured this would make a good jumping off point if I decide to put up the rest of my OC clone stuff on here as a backup for my work. So please, let me know what you think!


End file.
